


Suffocating the Stars

by Serendipitoushearts



Category: Lucifer (TV)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-31
Updated: 2019-07-31
Packaged: 2020-07-28 01:26:49
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,590
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20055781
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Serendipitoushearts/pseuds/Serendipitoushearts
Summary: Lucifer is the Lightbringer, he created stars and molded galaxies. They are apart of him, woven into the inner workings of his soul. But what is his existence like with all that power?





	Suffocating the Stars

Angels are beings composed of pure light; bodies formless until their defining traits mold that precious light into something tangible. Willed into existence by a God and a Goddess, born into an unknowing servitude, head filled with false promise of importance in the grand construction of their very reality. 

Gifts are distributed by their Father – by God – abilities that reflect the most intimate innerworkings of their souls, giving them a means to have a hand in His creation. Do as He commands, answer His call, do His bidding, be His obedient children. Just as they were designed to be. 

They were His angels. 

Samael is one of many, brought to life with pulsating energy he almost can’t contain. No vessel can contain that much light, that much raw power. 

He shouldn’t have survived. 

He does. 

Samael is born with galaxies swirling in his irises, the power of the stars nestled underneath his skin. The light of his soul shines like a supernova, it burns bright and hot, simultaneously dangerous and gorgeous. 

He has the stars in the palms of his hands, the universe and all its vastness as his heart. Within his mind is the explosion of a pulsar star, his voice likened to the softness of a solar wind. 

Samael is the lightbringer, he exists to bring light, illuminate that what once was hidden. It is his purpose, how he serves his Father, his reason to be alive. 

His light was good, and therefore so was he. 

For many millennia Samael, much like all his siblings, was content and satisfied in his role. He was fulfilled, his duty served, his light a part of the grand-plan his Father designed, serving his purpose just as he was intended. 

That was until Samael watched as his Father slipped away, more invested in His secret project than His children. Humanity having stolen his Father’s affections. 

Samael had questioned why they were deserving of his Father’s attention, what made humanity so special? Why were they so important that God’s children felt neglected and alone in the universe Samael had helped construct? 

God eventually revealed his plans for Earth, to populate it with humanity, His creation with free-will. It was special, something angels didn’t have, were never even meant to consider. 

Free-will was a concept so foreign most angels could scarcely fathom choosing what they wished to do or selecting their own duties to carry out after relying so heavily on their Father’s guidance for eons. 

Samael’s questions didn’t cease. Why did the humans receive something God was so proud of? Why was free-will so special, and if their Father deemed it so vital, why did the angels lack it? Shouldn’t they too have free-will? 

God grew tired of his son’s questioning, commanding him away with a barking dismissal, sowing the seeds of Samael’s resentment toward humanity before it was even created. 

Angelic siblings wondered why their once prideful, curious and passionate brother became cold and bitter, why his starlight flickered and burned like poison in his veins. 

Even in his fury, Samael is what his Father needs. His Father needed a rebel, someone to blame the unrest his neglect had caused. So, Samael, His favorite son, the obedient and loyal lightbringer became the rebel. 

He rose above the masses of his siblings, took charge in the chaos of angels without order, children without their parent. 

He fought like an exploding star, furious and brilliant, unmatched in power as he tore through heaven, nothing but poison in his veins and acid burning his lungs. 

The poison of God indeed. 

He didn’t stop until he stood before his Father, eyes ablaze white with fury, the stars humming in his chest, waiting for his call, waiting on his whim as he had so diligently waited on his Father’s. A Father who he could see now cared not for him, but what he could do, what he provided and what he could create. 

“Samael stop this nonsense,” his Father had commanded when Michael’s blade was pressed to his throat, white wings broken and useless against his back. 

Samael had smiled, a wicked thing of only teeth, once white now stained red. “It’s Lucifer,” he spat, the words sending blood spilling past his lips and down his chin. 

He was defiant up until he fell, up until Lucifer was cast out from heaven. His body alight with pain that is all-consuming and suffocating and burning burning burning. 

The flames should’ve consumed him, reduced him to nothing. 

They don’t. 

Light races up his veins and escapes out of his eyes. The stars flare brighter, an entire galaxy is obliterated in his blind unforgiving fury. He razes everything he sees, destroys an entire section of hell, stars spinning to life on his fingertips, dazzling and so very near their end. He pushes them into the ground, uses his angelic strength to shove them deeper. He can feel the very soul of hell buck up, feels the ground shake and tremble against his outrage. 

Lucifer screams and even hell’s grey sky seems to crack, fissures forming in a seamless layer under the strain of his emotions. His broken body is breaking more, shaking so badly it seems he may seize up dead, be consumed by the destruction he wrought. 

But he can’t stop, he doesn’t want too. 

He’s destroyed the landscape and it’s still not enough; it quells nothing of the fire that is burning within him, consuming him. 

The shadow of hell laughs at him, coaxing him into its shade, welcoming him home where he belongs. He wants too, he finds, so badly. Wants to slip away like he’s those little bits of rock that glide in and out of an asteroid belt, to fall away forgotten. 

Hot, stifling wind caresses his cheek, the darkness looms overhead but it offers him no further answers. He is alone, only the dimming light and taunting shadows as company. 

No one ever claimed that the cosmos was calm, that it was kind. No one ever said it wasn’t angry, didn’t grow cold and was willing to hurt in the absence of anything. 

Lucifer finds that in the absence of his stars there are black holes in his heart, gaping and consuming, eating at him and stealing pieces of himself he can’t be bothered to acknowledge. Black holes, just like his stars, come to his command; they are as much a part of him as the light from which his title is derived. 

The demons don’t fear his light, they sneer and laugh as he attempts to gather his power and find purpose amongst the chaos that reigns here. They fear the darkness, what he has become in the deprivation of everything he once was. They fear the absence of light. 

They are right to be afraid, he is the rebel archangel, cast out of heaven and survived. 

He survived. 

Upon his throne, Lucifer can still feel stars dying in his chest and new ones being born, their first flares alighting his nerves and tickling his ribs, prickling his skin and making him itch from the inside. He can feel the molten, scorching surface of his sun burning on his skin. 

Stars are not small or gentle. They are writhing and dying and angry. It is only natural that he be the same. 

Perhaps his light wasn’t so good after all. 

Lucifer perfects hell makes it his own. Creates endless loops of guilt, trapping souls in their own worst nightmares, listening to their screams that reverberate off the hexagonal pillars of brimstone. 

Demons wait on his beck and call, eager to please as they torture soul after soul, their gleeful laughs just as grating as the wails of the damned. 

When the black holes threaten to consume him, threaten to swallow the fragile bits that remain of his once bright soul, he’ll hop off the throne and preform tortures of his own. He’s done things he will never be proud of, convinced himself that he enjoyed it, just so he couldn’t wish it would be different. 

Feeling disgusted and revolted by what he is becoming is better than feeling nothing at all. 

For many millennia he ruled hell with an iron fist, an unforgiving and unrelenting lord. Demons never strayed, bent at the knee when he commanded, their lives forfeit if he so much as whispered the word. 

He hated it. 

He hated himself. 

Lucifer’s only reprieve was his brief fleeting visits to humanity, when a soul managed to escape, wayward and wandering on Earth. He would go to Earth to collect them, hunting them down and dragging them back to where they belonged. 

In doing this, he was able to watch humanity grow, watch it evolve into something worth his interest. So, Lucifer made deals, danced around humanity as he pushed them along in certain areas and brought havoc in others. 

He was tired of ruling in hell, bored of it all and wanted something outside of hating himself and everything he had become. 

His half-aborted plans of disasters were the reason he had been buried in hell, but he’d served his time, paid his penance, he wanted a piece of the free-will he had challenged his Father for. 

Lucifer severed his wings from his back, swore off returning to hell and decided he would make a life for himself, one that he desired. 

Five years was nothing in comparison to thousands of years trapped in hell, it was miniscule to the eon spent serving his Father in heaven before that. 

There are cries from the universe echoing in his ears as his fingers dance along ivory keys, trying to drown out the sound of its pleas with his music, with his artistry. 

Lucifer grins as a star dies, his smile predatory and all teeth. He laughs as a galaxy implodes, head tossed back, silky laughter slightly manic. 

Space is brutally beautiful, viciously gorgeous and it entraps the hearts of anyone willing to look. Lucifer is no different, reflecting every aspect of his stars in who he is. 

He reveals himself in graceful steps, in the songs he sings that are reminiscent of the birth of a star, in the way his eyes seem to glow in the light from the power that burns within him. Lux needs no cameras, needs no security guards because he will protect it, white hot burning power fueling him to drive vermin from his place of refuge. Lucifer knows he is beautiful, his creation is beautiful, and he is nothing less. 

Beautiful, enticing, and most of all dangerous. 

But he never claimed to be anything of the contrary. 

People flock to Lux, flock to him. They crave him, reaching for even the barest sliver they can get, clinging to his affections, to him. They push closer to him, craving the light underneath his skin, they kiss him, trapping the sun against their lips. 

Nobody mattered, all inconsequential to him, fleeting moments of bliss, fulfilled desire that he rode like a high. He reveled in it, how he could have anyone by his side or in his bed if he so much as spared them a glance. 

Nobody mattered until he met her. 

Detective Chloe Jane Decker. 

She barely came up to his shoulders when he stood, but her presence compensated for her lack of height, her determination and confidence made it seem a proper one. 

She was an enigma that Detective, uptight and by-the-books who took a great amount of pride in her work. Notable instincts and cleverness, all of this paled in comparison by her desire for justice, desire for the truth, desire to do good. 

Lucifer was intrigued by her, admired her resolve, so very different than his unorthodox approach and erratic behavior. The universe didn’t follow rules, it did as it pleased and burned without thought, uncaring of trespassers. 

She held her own against him, met his eyes with a fierceness that rivaled his own, told him no and kept him in line. Against his better judgement he liked her. He liked that she verbally spared with him, matched his wit, how she was disgruntled and grouchy, but cared so deeply. 

When given the opportunity he saves her life, bent over her prone and bleeding body, protecting her from the fire of bullets that ricocheted off his back. He secures her soul, swearing his Father can’t have her yet. Not until he understands. Lucifer associates work with everything he despises, with the wailing sobs of dejected souls, trapped in a hellscape of their creation. Hell is his own personal torture, trapped in an endless loop of humanities worst, because of his own hubris. 

But work with the Detective… He finds himself satisfied when a case is solved, when justice is served. 

He listens and learns; he enjoys the work and the companionship that comes with it. 

A dying star does not concern itself with the inconsequential specks who float within its radius. Lucifer should’ve headed his creations advice, listened to the whispers of the sky, known better than to let himself grow attached to Father Frank. 

The gunshot is loud, shaking the pews, the trembles of laughter from the church mocking him as blood stains the sacred ground below his feet. 

Plasma’s burning underneath his skin, it rolls and turns and flares to form a star that is threatening to burst from his throat. Asteroids are beating against his bones and the sun is spinning in his heart, blazing and heated and—

Chloe shouts his name, voice pitched high in alarm, and it stalls him, gives him pause to focus on the body he has lofted in the air, held by his throat and squeezing the life from him. How easy it would be, it would cost him little effort, just tightening his fingers and the neck would snap under the strain of his fury. 

Yet, the panicked tremor of the Detective’s voice lets him know he would lose her, would lose her favor and lose whatever had become of their partnership. He couldn’t –wouldn’t— lose another friend tonight. 

“This isn’t what Father Frank would’ve wanted,” the Detective says, her voice tinged with urgency, one that has his fingers unclenching and dropping the body unceremoniously to the ground. 

Lucifer regards the man apathetically, getting a wave of satisfaction that quells a bit of his simmering rage as the man flinches away from the red light that floors his eyes. 

The sun grieves for a human, the devil grieves for a preacher, and the man grieves for a friend. Neither benevolence nor malevolence pleases his Father, nothing does, and nothing ever will.

The world keeps spinning, life continues in motion. Lucifer knows this, after all he helped make it so, but that doesn’t mean he will cease to despise it. 

Lucifer knows that Chloe catches people whispering about him, how his eyes seem old, the knowledge of passing millennia tucked away in his mind. They question why his eyes are so ancient, why his far-off stare is someone much older than he appears, than he acts. How he gazes at humanity fluttering around him with something close to amusement, to weariness. He knows she hears them because it makes her pause, makes her turn and study him for a moment. For a second, she stares at him and really looks, he can see her mind working, attempting to reconcile what the world says the Devil is and who he is, as her partner and friend. 

Then she blinks and it’s gone, he’ll meet her eyes and she’ll smile, a small and warm thing, before focusing once more on whatever she had busied herself with before. 

He wonders if she’ll ever believe him, if one day she’ll look at him, really look, and see him. If those small smiles will disappear, if her eyes will forever be widened in fear, if she’ll avoid him or send him away. 

He could show her, prove it all, but he is afraid of losing her… even though she is not his to lose. 

Lucifer knows that if he showed the Detective his true face, she would believe him. There would be no more of her staring at him as if he were a mental patient escaped. She would know he was the actual devil; she would know the truth. 

But, before he can will himself too, he thinks about every unfortunate soul who has gazed upon his face and been driven into the thralls of insanity. 

He couldn’t do that to her. Couldn’t watch her easy smiles turn into grimaces of fear; her friendly pats and bumps turn skittish and afraid. He couldn’t watch her eyes widen in pure terror, of him. 

Lucifer continues his little charade, stating who he is as he always does, but backs it up with the hollowness of his own word. 

He is not a liar, but he thinks if she continues letting him stay with her under falsities... then for her, he is willing to be. 

Time is a blur, the earth continues to hurtle through space below his feet, the solar flares of the sun distant songs that pierce the atmosphere. 

Him and the Detective continue their dance; he flirts shamelessly, and she refutes every word that falls past his lips. 

That is until Malcom, risen from the dead, fear of his damnation driving him forward, driving him mad. 

Malcom is unpredictable, sporadically dangerous, and unapologetically ruthless, stealing the Detective’s daughter and threatening both their lives. 

He draws a gun and threatens the devil, wields the weapon with quaking hands, voice pitched high and sharp. 

A wave of the gun, a squeeze of the trigger, a shot of metal piercing a star and sending it crumbling to the dirty floor. Every beat of his faltering heart is loud, like a piano key being slammed. 

Lucifer’s voice is void as he begs, it cracks and breaks, eyes brimming with tears as pale trembling fingers clutch the wound at his stomach. 

“Please,” he whispers, teeth stained with blood as it gurgles past his lips. 

He has done nothing to deserve his Father’s favor, he knows this, but he is desperate and he’s sure that He can hear it in the tremble of his voice. 

Radiation giggles at his misfortune. Asteroids collide with his body, shatter his bones with every hit. Hurts, it hurts, oh it hurts. The sun cackles in his ears as seconds of nothingness pass. 

Lucifer doesn’t get the opportunity to beg twice, the darkness swallows him, and he falls, tumbling into the abyss. 

He is already moving when he wakes, his legs carrying him through hallways in hell, the sound of screams familiar in a way he wishes they weren’t. 

He comes to a stop before an unlocked door, the chains hanging limp and loose, no longer pulled taunt by the bind that had held them in place. 

“That’s—” He begins, but he finds himself unable to finish, his heart seizes, everything swims in focus, everything hurts. 

The pain recedes, his eyes blinking open, his gaze focusing on the hanger ceiling, sounds of deranged laughter and heavy footsteps echoing around him, replacing the desperate cries of tormented souls. 

The atoms in the air vibrate, plunging the room into the depths of a chill so deep the panicked breath of Malcom comes out in a white puff. 

Malcom’s eyes are wide with fear, his voice cracking as his lips split in the cold, tongue smearing the blood across his rushed admissions. 

Lucifer moves forward to fight, stalled by the second set of gun fire, those that have Malcom bleeding out in a heap as he had once been seconds before. 

Heat returns as swiftly as it had left, sweeping back into the room as if exhaled from Lucifer himself, Chloe staring at him incredulously, eyes focused on the bloodstain that cakes the front of his once pristine white shirt. He offers a smile, but the Detective stares at him as if she understands, sees him, devil and all. 

She blinks. 

It’s gone, she whirls around, embraces her offspring and they don’t speak of it again. Despite all the trouble they have caused him, Lucifer finds himself attached to the people he meets. To the friends he has made, the family he has found himself. 

The bond thrums a song alongside the groaning and snarling familiarity of the universe inside him. He finds there is still compassion within him, he convinces himself it is pity, for those so young and defenseless, that they require his protection. 

He looks after them, swears nothing will touch them, nothing will have the opportunity to tarnish the sacred purity within each one of their souls. 

He calls upon the stars to ease the Detectives anguish, creates light to soothe the Doctor, spins stories of a life once lived for Miss Lopez, brings dancing galaxies into reality for the offspring with a wave of his hand when she asks. 

Chloe is a kaleidoscope of color and feeling, she is unspeakably gorgeous. Being around her is like being bathed in golden light, a breath of fresh air, endless and overwhelming. She is brighter than every star, dazzling, bright, and oh so beautiful. 

Lucifer is a musician, things he feels find their way into his music. Things he will never say guide his hand. 

He plays a solar wind, with the way he can hear the light, he twists and bends it to his liking, make it gorgeous in more ways than one. 

Lucifer supposes he’s always been an artist. Perhaps he was the first, he muses idly. He set the stars in patterns, draws with nebula clouds and creates galaxies based on the song they sing. His creation is beautiful, he thinks, his creation is good… is he?

He knows his work is breathtaking, he is aware of how well he plays, his immortal life giving plenty of time to master the craft. Even in his mastery, he knows nothing will ever compare to Chloe and Beatrice Decker. 

Chloe is the perfect symphony of one, her daughter is her most beautiful reprise. 

He will do the unthinkable to protect them. 

Blackholes burst from his fingertips and consume everything in their paths for those who stand opposed to his charges. His brother threatens his sanctuary; the blackholes consume him and leave nothing of Uriel behind. 

No matter how fiercely he scrubs the blood that found its way underneath his nails will not come away. He rubs until his hands are red from the heat of the water, skin raw from the intensity of his actions, aching and stiff underneath his desperation.

It’s horrible, it breaks him, sends fissures into his soul and fractures what remains of the carefully collected remains. They crash and shatter in the hollow of his chest, puncturing his organs and leaking white-hot starlight. 

He is almost afraid of how fiercely he cares, cares for so many of the humans who should be insignificant, whose lives should hold little meaning to the vastness of his own. 

Yet, here he is, sheltering them from the weight of the world which he bears like atlas, body aching and straining under the weight of his universe that threatens to take that which he loves. 

Anything is a threat, anything can steal what he has so painstakingly crafted, steal his found family and destroy the remnants of his happiness he protects like a flickering flame. 

Lucifer kills himself to save her, sends him back to the place he swore he’d never go, damns himself to ensure she can draw breath once more. 

He can feel a galaxy dying millions of billions of light years away, taste the terror of the stars, but it is minuscule in comparison to his own. 

He doesn’t want to forget, doesn’t want to erase his pain or ignore the universes begs and pleas for him to do anything. He is afraid of the pain that comes with the memories so agonizing, with hearing the voices of the damned as they rail against their confines and scream into an abyss.  
Lucifer is far too old for the way his body preforms, the cosmos is immortal, and it is his soul. He is immovable, inevitable, a force to be reckoned with. But sometimes he feels as if he is falling apart. 

Lucifer has never considered himself a coward, but here he is, running, fleeing. He can be hurt, the devil can be hurt, the devil can die. 

If that isn’t enough it’s his Dad’s fault, all of it’s been manipulation. What was it all for? 

And above it all, he’s angrier that his Father has manipulated Chloe. For Him to control her, to take away her consent and drive her toward him, someone unlovable—

Lucifer has to leave, has to get distance between them because he can be hurt, and she deserves better than celestial manipulation and falsities. 

No, Lucifer has never considered himself a coward, but for her, he may very well be. 

He is willing to be anything she needs of him. 

The sky whimpers in his ears, tells him where it is safe to land and hide, where he must go. Lucifer follows its advice because there is nothing else to lose.

He hates himself for leaving her, for abandoning her, but this is what she needs, the distance, the separation to give her choice. To allow her a decision that was taken. 

Curiously, Lucifer couldn’t remember when he started associating exhaustion with his daily life. He didn’t remember when exhausted was no longer exhausted, it just was. The tiredness was in his bones, pulling at stars and darkening their light. He accepted this state of being with apathy, pushed forward and continued moving, ignoring the threats of his body when the world swam as he rose. 

The exhaustion is bone-deep and heavy, a weight he carries with every step. It remains when he returns, slips back into the lives of those he had previously fled, pretends that he is fine, that he couldn’t be better. 

He’s a liar. He hasn’t been fine since he returned to hell, since he was shot by a psychopath and plunged back into the dark abyss. Fine is no longer within his realm of understanding, with his brother’s blood staining his hands, with his chest still aching from when he’d thrown himself back into the thralls of hell. 

The smallest motion of aggression toward her, the most miniscule taunt of jibe can send him spiraling onto a warpath, body tremoring finely with power that builds in his fury. 

A spasm of rage gripped his throat, leaving a sharp sensation of thirst. 

Lucifer clenches his jaw, the muscles popping, determination rolling in his veins and frightening amount of will burning in his heart and crawling across his soul. 

Stars burn anew in his blood and his ribs ache with the effort of keeping back the meteors. He breathes slowly, deliberately, a futile attempt to quell the nuclear explosion that is him. 

There is death in his veins and lightening in his mind, everything is suddenly too small, so very small. Venom that will always be in his body sears through his heart and mind. 

Poison, he is poison. 

Lucifer lurches forward, shoots to his feet with the power of the Milky Way at his fingertips because who are they, who gave them the right—

Chloe steadies him with a hand on his arm. 

"Don’t", she mouths at him, her eyes sympathetic and gentle, "You can’t". 

The power fizzles away, the fight leaving him in an instant. 

Lucifer listens to her. 

It’s all for her, always. 

He begins avoiding the Detective, avoiding Miss Lopez, Beatrice, Doctor Martin, the lot of them. He can’t stand physical contact, his body trembling with exhaustion, with fear, with loss. He stays away in hopes he can find his balance in it all. Stop feeling like he’s falling— he’s so tired of falling. 

His control is threadbare, ran thin by constant abuse and his own exhaustion. He can barely control himself, comets sailing through his fingers as he tries to grip at the incinerating planet, one that’s burned and cracked under the supernova that is him. 

He’s shattering under the pressure of his own star, of his own power, drowning in heat and fire, consumed by self-hatred. 

Poison of his lies is thick on his tongue, bitter and horrid, choking him with every assurance he is fine, that he isn’t seconds away from suffocating on his own light. 

The air immediately becomes stifling with heat, but Lucifer doesn’t feel it, perhaps he can’t. 

He laughs a little under his breath, somehow his audience is more terrified. 

Maybe it’s the way his voice has a double layer to it. One of a man with a British lit, charming and easy that adds flavor to a conversation. The other of a being with unimaginable power and billions of years in his life span that will only continue to grow in number. 

His fingertips are brimming with stars, everything he’s created have long since dissolved into the nothingness of space, a pulse of a million different things that run through his mind, a combination of planets and atoms and so many others that he can barely remember the names of them all. 

But he does. 

He always does. 

Faces frozen in fear swim before him, their eyes blown wide and mouths parted, startled screams escaping those who have recovered enough to find their voice.

One face sticks out amongst the rest, the Detective, her features distorted into one of disbelief and shock. 

It’s directed at him. 

She’s afraid of him. 

The air freezes around them, the atoms almost stopping their vibrations as he shifts. Lucifer has always been filled with fire, with the will to live, but sometimes he just looks so tired, so ready to lay down and let the universe claim him. Let the earth open up and swallow him whole, let it all just end.

Chloe had grabbed his wrist, before he could slip away, Lucifer had stared at her with dead dead dead eyes. The way he had simply looked had made Chloe let go, because Lucifer had looked like he was moments away from shattering into a million pieces, and there would be no one to put him back together.

Lucifer ignores them all, ignores each imploring gaze and needy hands, he flees upstairs, collapses onto the piano bench and bows himself over the keys. 

The moon turns just the right angle and the full radiance of it shines down. Lucifer breathes it in, lets the tension leak out, lets his muscles relax. He’s been to would up these last few days, far too tense, he could feel it beginning to take a toll on his creation. 

Molten surfaces have shifted, the stars shining a little brighter and the radiation has become more poisonous. 

He’s alone and that’s okay, because alone he can only hurt himself. 

It doesn’t last long, it never does, because human’s care so deeply that they seek him out. He turns them away, doesn’t answer his phone nor does he answer the door. Lucifer will protect what is his, even from himself if he must. 

And then Chloe is there, sitting beside him, her shoulder nearly bumping against his own, he avoids it by scooting himself the hairsbreadth of an inch away, it may as well have been a mile with how she looks at him. 

“Lucifer…” She murmurs, her voice soft with pity as she reaches a hand out to touch him, to offer him comfort. 

Light glows in his veins and the sky breaks above, a tiny crack that grows and grows and grows, his eyes smoldering with the cosmos, and Lucifer needs to find calm now, but it all won’t go away, and he can’t—

Lucifer flies to his feet, the stool clattering behind him as the molecules in the air around him began to vibrate. 

Stars burst in his blood and Lucifer doesn’t hide the way his eyes glow.

The piano creaks underneath his fingers.

“I am not evil!” Lucifer snaps. How easily he could have become evil. How easy it would’ve been to be evil in his past, in his future, in his present. He could have become everyone’s worst nightmare, could still become one, but he is not one. He refuses to be one. He has potential, but that gives nothing away. 

Chloe lays a hand on his shoulder, her splayed fingers cold in comparison to the heat that radiates off him. 

As if plunged into the artic sea, the fight leaves Lucifer in a rush, the stifling heat vanishing, his body sagging forward with an exhale.

Chloe is there to catch him, softens his fall as he crumbles boneless to the ground, holding him against her chest, arms protectively tight around his shoulders. His hands find purchase against the hem of her shirt, fingers fisting into the fabric, shoulders giving jerks with every watery breath.

“You will never be evil, not to me,” She murmurs to him, squeezing him tighter when his breath hitches. “Not ever.” 

When his cries to come, she shushes him, voice ever gentle in his ears, tracing soothing patterns on his shoulders as she holds what’s left of him together. 

Perhaps she doesn’t see the universe or devil, but she sees the man, sees everything he tries his hardest to be. 

Her touch his salvation. So, he holds on tighter, cradling the entirety of his universe in his arms.

**Author's Note:**

> Hi! I’m Serendipitoushearts, or Serene as a shorter name that’s much easier and faster.
> 
> This is not the first fic I’ve written, but it is the first fic I am posting. This took me a few months to write, as the syntax of describing ‘the universe’ and Lucifer himself are a bit outside of my comfort zone. But I fell in love with this idea, so I wrote it and had a great time with it. 
> 
> Is this cannon complaint? Not really. Are there moments from cannon sprinkled in here just because I wanted too? Of course! 
> 
> Some of it may not have made a lot of sense, but if you’ve made it to the bottom then it wasn’t too bad. I couldn't find a satisfying place to end this, I had numerous other scenes written to include Cain and sprinkle in some of the events from season 4. It just didn't work, and so it kinda seems like this ends after season 2? 
> 
> Who knows, I sure as hell don't. But, this was fun to write and explore, I may add a second chapter to continue "Lucifer is the Universe" but I didn't want to keep writing if I was dissatisfied with it simply for the point of progressing the story. So for now, this is it. Hopefully it made sense and wasn't complete word vomit. 
> 
> My goal with posting this fic is to help kickstart me to actually posting and finishing fics instead of letting them stew on my laptop. We’ll see, no promises. 
> 
> Thank you for reading, and I hope you enjoyed!


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